29/05/2023

troubled in a backstate alley, i am bemused
by all the chalk names i see, though they are rare
through the brave flowers growing out of bricks and cement

i see a name, it reminds me of
a friend of my mother—
she used to have lots of friends
now i worry that, when she sits in front of the television
(again, every morning, too)
that her life will end bemused
and that i am too much for her

i pick up chalk to write an unfamiliar name
maybe a drunken somebody else
will think of their mother
when they see it

i quickly scratch it, though
i am too scared of being seen